


Scars

by NaughtyPastryChef



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Sex, Dean Cooking, Dirty Talk, Domestic, First Time, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Massage, Wincest - Freeform, late season first time, mentions of scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 22:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyPastryChef/pseuds/NaughtyPastryChef
Summary: All the scars that the Winchester boys carry are self-inflicted in a way. Dean deliberately ignores his own safety in favor of Sam’s. Dean hates himself and allows others to punish and hurt him to cleanse that hatred through pain. Sam hates himself and punishes and harms himself to purify through the pain.So many years, so many scars, so much pain and blood spent before it stopped. Such an easy thing to stop. Such a simple solution once discovered. The only true solace they had was with each other; IN each other.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollylux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/gifts), [Exaggerated_Specificity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/gifts), [non_tiembo_mala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/gifts).



> Inspired by and therefore dedicated to dollylux, exaggeratedspecificity and non_tiembo_mala. I hope that you all can enjoy this as I've enjoyed all the fic you three constantly floor me with. Thank you,

Dean’s fingers are calloused from weapons handling. His knuckles are swollen and twisted from being broken and healed and cracked. His arms are littered with scars from knife cuts and bullet wounds; from claws and teeth; even from fire. His torso is more of the same. He doesn’t watch out for himself the way that he should and is marked and scarred forever because of it.

Doesn’t care for himself the way that he should. He lets his wounds bleed for too long. He lets his scars remain untreated. He trains with new weapons until they make his fingers and arms ache and then he does it some more. Dislocated joints are popped back in with no more warning than “one, two” and never seen to at a proper hospital. Cuts are disinfected with whiskey and sewn up with  anything that might be at hand or not sewn up at all. Broken bones are ignored and teeth cracked from clenching his jaw, or being punched in the jaw, the pain is pushed down until it is something to be walked on, over, and left behind. 

His only balm, his only solace, is in letting Sam take care of him. Sam wields the needle and thread to stitch him back together. Sam is the one who counts before popping joints back to place. Sam is the one who pulls the whiskey from his hand and replaces it with water and food. Sam is the one who sleeps in the bed next to his and gives him the white noise of snoring to help soothe him into sleep.

Sam is his everything.

 

Sam’s scars are in neat little rows on his thighs. He has the smooth, flat, hairless skin of someone who’s been burned ringing his waist and the white tick-marks of razor blades on his biceps. Coffee pots and metal spatulas heated over a stove caused his burns; razor blades and freshly sharpened hunting knives caused the rest. Sam’s scars are no less avoidable than Dean’s.

Sam doesn’t care for himself the way that he should. He doesn’t love himself the right way. He thinks there’s something wrong with him that he has to get out. So he makes himself bleed. He burns himself repeatedly; purification through pain. He has spots on his body that no longer are capable of pain because he’s given himself too much.

HIs only balm, his only solace, is in letting Dean take care of him. He lets Dean shuffle him to bed instead of falling asleep at a table reading, again. He lets Dean tease him even as he orders fresh food at their latest diner. And if he cuts too deep, he lets Dean stitch that up with no questions asked or answered. Just Dean’s gaze feels like a balm, soothing him. Dean’s presence, silent and strong and supportive, doubly so.

Dean is his everything.

 

All the scars that the Winchester boys carry are self-inflicted in a way. Dean deliberately ignores his own safety in favor of Sam’s. Dean hates himself and allows others to punish and hurt him to cleanse that hatred through pain. Sam hates himself and punishes and harms himself to purify through the pain.

So many years, so many scars, so much pain and blood spent before it stopped. Such an easy thing to stop. Such a simple solution once discovered. The only true solace they had was with each other; IN each other.

 

Another day another fruitless day searching for a another solution to the world that it’s their job to save, thanklessly. They’re both tired and frustrated. Dean’s knees are aching from inaction and Sam’s neck hurts from being bent over dusty old books with tiny writing. He hears Dean shuffle into the room but doesn’t lift his head, tries to keep his focus on the words in front of him but it’s no good; Dean has all his attention. Every sense in his body is tuned towards Dean. He lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck and try and ease some of the soreness there, but other, stronger hands beat him to it. He jumped; attuned as he was he hadn’t realized Dean was that close.

“Neck hurting?” The words are soft, gentle, in the way that they only ever are with each other.

He nods his head and feels Dean’s thick fingers dig into the muscles a little more pushing some of the ache away along with a gasp of air out of his throat. He’s proud that he caught it before it became a moan.

“Dunno why you hunch over so much. Should be proud that you’re so big, tall and strong. All the reading doesn’t help either, but you're a brainiac so I guess that can’t be helped.” This time, the puff of air is expelled on a laugh. He’s so stunned from the conversation and the feel of Dean’s hands easing away his pain leaves him unable to censor his next words.

“Never really wanted to be taller than you.” The hands on his neck falter, stopping. He feels Dean behind him, warm and breathing and healthier than he’s been in a long time but still wounded, still hurting, just like him. Dean moves his hands lower to Sam’s shoulders, digging into the knots there and this time Sam can’t stop the moan.

“Kinda like that you’re taller than me, little brother. Sometimes.” Sam wants to ask about the logic behind that; no older brother wants to be smaller than the younger. Before he can attempt to formulate the question, Dean is speaking again.

“Hungry, Sammy? No food in the bunker but I was thinking I could go to the store and get something to cook? What would you want?”

Sam sits back, pressing the back of his head into Dean’s warm, comforting body, and thinks. Unconsciously, he rolls his head into Dean’s stomach and Dean brings his hands up to thread his fingers into Sam’s hair, combing through the soft strands and rubbing the tension out of his scalp.

“Mmmm, something quick and easy.” Dean laughs and Sam feels the way his stomach muscles contract and relax as he gets an unexpected “that’s what she said” out Dean, who never stops massaging his scalp.

“Burgers and salad?” He asks, hope in his voice. He wants vegetables, fresh but just the thought of Dean’s burgers has his mouth watering. He’s proud of the way that he holds in the disappointed whimper when Dean’s hands leave his head.

“You got it Sammy.  While I’m gone, go adjust one of the shower heads and get some hot water on your neck, it’ll help the muscles. Plus, I just epically messed up your hair.” Dean adds with a laugh and a wink thrown over his shoulder as he strides out of the room to grab his wallet and keys.

When they’d first moved into the bunker one of the things they’d done was lift the showerheads in the shower room; they knew they were tall but the Men of Letter who built the place must have been really short. Sam hadn’t been able to stand fully under a shower head since before his sixteen year old self went from five-seven to six foot in a year.

As he stood under the hot spray, letting it beat the tension out of his neck and shoulders, he laughed to himself about how Dean was always right about the best way to care for him. He thought about everything that had coursed through him when Dean had been massaging him. He wondered how much longer they could keep up the facade that what they were doing wasn’t flirting or leading somewhere.

Sam soaped himself up as he let his mind wander over his brother. Dean who always took care of Sam first and himself second. Dean who was all hardened macho man on the outside but the most loving, caring, domesticity loving person on the inside. And he only allowed Sam to see that part of him. Sam was just reaching down to soap up his cock when he looked down in surprise; he was more than half hard, just thinking about his brother. 

That hadn’t happened in years.

But it felt right. Dean was HIS in every sense of ownership. It didn’t make him feel dirty to think about it anymore. It didn’t make him want to cut himself. It made him want to make Dean understand it. It made him want to shut off the shower and go search Dean out and take action. It made him think about how long it had been with anyone, let alone the last time he slept with a man.

He angled his face out the spray and began to wash himself differently; with a purpose. He wanted to smell good. With a thrill, he realized he wanted to taste good. Sweet. Clean. He rinsed his body clean and turned off the shower, moving carefully. Moving with purpose. He dried himself and re-dressed, all the while thinking about Dean.

When he made it into the kitchen, he stopped dead at the sight of his big brother, singing as he cooked dinner for the two of them. Dean spun around to pull something from the oven and froze, a soft smile on his face when he caught sight of Sam in the doorway.

“Dinner’s almost done. Wanna grab the salad and the beers and take ‘em to the table, Sammy?” Sam nodded, grabbing silverware while he was at it. He sat at the table and waited for dean to be finished. No point in rushing a master at work.

Dinner was different. Not in a tangible way for for either of them but different. Their touches were softer and so were their words. The conversation steered away from cases and more towards the mundane. It took Sam halfway through his meal to realize; it was domestic. It was the same kind of conversation a couple would have over dinner at the end of a day. He paused, fork in mid-air in front of his mouth.

“Something wrong Sammy?” Dean asked, a knowing glint in his eye. Sam shoved a forkful of lettuce into his mouth and shook his head no.

“Okay then. If you’re sure?” Dean asked and his tone made Sam look him in the eye, something he’d been avoiding since they sat down. Dean looked mildly worried as he waited for SAm to reply.

“I’m really sure Dean. This… this is great.” Dean smiled wide, the kind of smile that showed his straight, white teeth and made the smile lines around his eyes crinkle up. The kind of smile that made Sam’s stomach swoop with amazement when it was directed at him. The kind that made him wonder ‘ how can someone so beautiful even acknowledge me?’

They cleaned in silence and when they were done Dean waggled a bottle of Booker’s Bourbon at him with one hand and pointed towards a warmed apple pie with the other. SAm took the bottle and marveled at it.

“You tryin to impress me?” He asked as he pulled the cork and sniffed at the expensive liquor. His toes actually curled on the floor at the smell of the expensive small-batch bourbon.

“Is it working?” Dean’s voice was husky low in a way that Sam had truly never heard before. His eyes shot up and met green ones over the top of the bottle.

“Yeah.” Honesty was the only route to go. He felt like Dean was trying to court him or something and it made him barely capable of thought.

“Then yeah. It’s nice to spoil you sometimes little brother, we don’t get enough of that. Never have really. C’mon, I got one more thing planned to help you relax. Bring the bottle and the glasses, I got the pie.” Dean led them through the bunker to the garage, where the door was open showing a clear night. Sam followed as they stepped out into the Kansas night and settled themselves in the cheap chairs they’d carried around for years now and looked up at the stars.

“We haven’t done this in a while” Sam said around the cork in his teeth as he poured two generous glasses of bourbon. They traded the pie plate and a single fork back and forth, enjoying the peace and quiet of the night sky.

When half the bottle was gone Sam rolled his head on his shoulders and swung his gaze from the sky and the stars to Dean. He couldn’t figure out what they were doing. Was this a date? Was this some kind of subtle seduction from Dean? Was this just supposed to be some enjoyable night off in the middle of the constant shitstorm that was their life? Before he could actually try and answer some of his mental questions he realized all the tension was back in his neck and shoulders.

“You ruining all my hard work trying to relax you Sammy?” Dean asked suddenly and Sam’s head shot up from where it had slumped chin against his chest.

“Sorry Dean.” Sam was suddenly ashamed, foggy head thinking of the box of razors hidden in his room. Why did he have to ruin everything? Before he could fall into self-flagellation too hard, Dean was standing in front of him, hand extended.

“Don’t be sorry little brother. C’mon. I  picked up one more thing to help us relax.”  Sam took Dean’s hand and let his brother tug him up out of his chair and inside. He stayed silent as Dean led them through the bunker, dropping off the rest of the pie in the kitchen, then back tracking and heading towards the dorms. Dean ducked into his room for a second, leaving Sam weaving in the hallway and sipping from his glass.

“Alright, c’mon Sammy.” Dean grabbed his bicep and pulled him towards his own room. He felt himself shoved down onto the bed while Dean set up his laptop on the dresser before flopping down next to him.

“Bourbon, companionship and explosions.” Dean said as the opening monologue to the 300 started up. Sam forced himself to relax into the pillows on his bed and let the closeness of Dean help to calm him. He forced himself to focus on the movie when Dean shifted to sling an arm around his shoulders and pull him in even closer. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the smell of his brother, comfort and home permeating through his senses. When he opened his eyes, Dean was smiling down at him.

“Missin the movie kiddo.” He felt more than saw Dean turn his head and rest his cheek at the top of Sam’s head. Sam smiled and turned back to the movie, focusing on his muscle groups one at a time to help relax him, a trick Dean taught him years ago when they were kids and Sam had nightmares.

BY the end of the movie, Sam was finally relaxed. He was a little buzzed from the evening and the alcohol. From Dean’s closeness. As comforted as he was, every sense was alert when the credits began to roll and he felt Dean begin to move. Before he could think about what he was doing, his arm shot out to stop Dean from leaving the bed.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t go.” He whispered, unable to look his brother in the eye.

“Not going anywhere without you Sammy. Just getting up to turn off the computer.” Dean was back in a flash, his boots kicked off under Sam’s bed and his overshirt shrugged off and tossed over Sam’s desk. He lay back down, on his side with his head resting on his bicep and Sam shimmied down to mirror him.

“What can I do to help you Sammy? What do you want?” The words, unlike when they were usually said between them, weren’t ground out in anger. They weren't frustrated or anything else. They was a genuine curiosity and desire to help behind them.

“You.” Sam never could lie to Dean convincingly and in that moment, the only way to answer was with complete honesty. Sam did want him. He’d wanted Dean for his whole life, it seemed, and in that moment he was too relaxed, too comfortable to calm to do anything but tell Dean in the only way he knew how. He shifted his body closer without allowing them to touch.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, smile on his face as he reached out and ghosted his hand down Sam’s arm before ending up with his hand on Sam’s hip. Sam pressed the half inch closer until they were pressed together from knees to stomach.

Sam stretched his neck closer, his lips close enough to Dean’s to smell the alcohol lingering on his breath. He didn’t speak, he let the pleasant sexual tension ratchet up as they held there, frozen in that moment. Dean nodded in response to his own question. His tongue flashed out over his lips, the tip of it grazing Sam’s lip in the process.

“Getting tense again little brother.” Dean sighed the words into the overheated air between them. Sam blinked and cocked his head slightly, wondering what Dean was talking about when suddenly all the air was pushed from his lungs as Dean shoved their hips together showing Sam just where he noticed the tension.

Sam honestly hadn’t even noticed he was hard enough to tent his jeans. He rolled his hips into Dean’s, feeling an answering hardness there, noticeable enough to make his head spin. He shimmied impossibly closer, their cocks rubbing together through layers of denim and cotton. SAm felt a thrill run up his back at the contact and he curled his fingers into Dean’s hip hard.

“Kiss me.” It was a demand and a question. Sam’s lips were tingling already at just the thought. His head was swimming. He needed it. He wanted it. “I want you. Kiss me.”

“Kinda pushy there.” Dean laughed before he finally closed the gap and pressed his lips to Sam’s. There were no fireworks. No sparks. No lightning bolt. It was like coming home. It was just something that should have always been. It was a gentle soft press of lips together. Sam parted his lips when he felt Dean’s tongue sweep over his bottom lip. He could taste the cinnamon and the butter lingering from the pie and the undertones of the bourbon. He groaned into Dean’s mouth and sucked on the tip Dean’s tongue.

Dean pulled back from the kiss with a gasp. He opened his eyes and looked at Sam, his chest heaving. Before SAm could ask the question he was formulating, Dean was back, tongue in Sam’s eager mouth and hands in Sam’s hair. He rolled them over so that Sam was beneath him but the bed was only a twin size and Sam was on the edge. They tumbled onto the floor with a laugh.

“Ow, Dean, oh man, we rolled right off the bed.” Sam laughed, holding his elbow and rubbing it where it had smacked against the floor. He lay back on the floor while Dean sat up.

“Damn, I noticed Sammy. C’mon, get up little brother. Let’s go somewhere else where we might we able to fit.”

They made their way down the hallway to Dean’s room, laughs interspersed with kissing and pulling clothes off. By the time they made it into Dean’s room Sam was down to his boxers and one sock and Dean’s jeans were slipping off his hips from where the fly way opened and his cock was bulging out. They tumbled into Dean’s bed together, each one wiggling to pull of the rest of their clothes until they lay panting, groping at all the exposed skin.

Dean pulled away just enough to look Sam in the eyes. “Do we need to talk, first?” He asked, his hands never leaving Sam’s skin all the while.

Sam shook his head no. What else was there to say. He didn’t feel nervous. He didn’t feel like it was wrong. He felt like it was so right. He let Dean nudge him onto his back and spread his legs open to let Dean between them. Dean ran his fingers up and down Sam’s torso, feeling the smooth burned patches, pausing when he touched them and his glance flicking up to Sam’s face but not asking.  

When he reached the neat lines on Sam’s upper thighs, his whole body stilled and Sam felt himself freeze up. He didn’t know what to say if Dean asked, but it wasn’t necessary. Dean carefully, worshipfully ran his fingers up and down the lines on Sam’s legs, then followed that same path with his tongue. Sam’s cock throbbed, dripping clearly on his stomach from the attention on those scars. The sensitive skin that he’d cut and hurt and hidden away for so many years and to have Dean worship them the way he was so so erotic, so sensual. He closed his eyes tight and pressed his head back into the pillow.

The touches stopped.

“Still okay little brother?” Dean was suddenly up in his face, dropping down kisses onto his chin and face while he waited for an answer.

Sam forced himself to open his eyes and nod. Dean dipped down and pressed their lips together again. Carefully, gently, lovingly he lowered his whole body down on top of Sam. Sam’s eyes popped open in surprise. He’d thought this was going in a different direction. He tilted his head and accepted another kiss.

“Just this. Just wanna feel you little brother. We have time for more.” Dean punctuated his statement with a roll of his hips making their cocks bump and rub together, caught between their stomachs.

Sam hooked his heels behind Dean’s calves and rocked his hips up into Dean, loving the sensation. The simplicity of it. The purity of it. Soon, they were both panting, the skin of their bellies slick with combined sweat and precome. Sam saw sparks behind his eyes when he closed them again. He felt the burn of Dean’s stubble around his mouth and the way their legs were sticking together with sweat. The heat in the dip of his spine where it was pressed into the sheets. The way Dean’s hands were clenching around his hips.

“I need… need.” Sam whined and nearly cried when Dean’s hips stopped moving. 

“Need something a little more?” Dean panted and Sam whined in agreement. “I got you Sammy.” Was whispered as Dean pulled back onto his knees, his hands curling around Sam’s hips and lifting them before he shuffled around and lay them both back down, this time with his cock slotted up against Sam’s hole. He started rocking his hips again with a mumbled “better baby” and a hand now wrapped around Sam’s dick. Sam whined high in his throat and wrapped his arms around Dean’s back to hold on. The feeling of Dean’s cock thrusting against his hole and the way his strong hand was wrapped around his dick was making all the breath leave his body. Dean knew exactly what Sam needed, he always knew.

“Next time, I want you inside. Dean, dean, dean, dean.” Sam let Dean fuck between his cheeks and on the next pass, they both hissed when the head of Dean’s cock caught on his tight, dry hole. It was that tiny bit of pain that finally pushed Sam over the edge and he came all over Dean’s hand and his stomach. As he gasped and tried to come back to himself, he felt the head of Dean’s cock push in just the tiniest bit more and then come all over his hole. Dean flopped down on top of Sam and they breathed together, bodies nearly steaming with sweat in the cool room.

“Should clean up.” Sam finally managed, not wanting to seem too weird because he liked the feeling of Dean’s sweat and come all over him.

“In the morning. We can clean up and then I can do all the things that you asked me for.” Dean slurred into Sam’s shoulder. “Get you all clean inside and out. Get my mouth on you. And don think we aren’t gonna talk about your legs baby boy. But for now,” Dean lazily shoved himself up and grabbed the comforter that was bunched up at the end of the bed, pulling it up over his shoulders like a cape before he flopped back down on top of Sam, “Sleep.”

 

 


End file.
